


Darkening

by AdmirableMonster (Mertiya)



Series: Kanó- and Nelyo and -Káno [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brotherhood, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Darkening of Valinor, Emetophobia, Gen, Horror, Silmarils, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:29:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27662723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/AdmirableMonster
Summary: Darkness comes upon Formenos.  Finwë tells his grandsons to hide and not come out until they are certain it's safe.
Relationships: Finwë and his grandsons, Maedhros | Maitimo & Maglor | Makalaurë, sons of fëanor + tyelpe
Series: Kanó- and Nelyo and -Káno [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995166
Comments: 10
Kudos: 47





	Darkening

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to Sylanna, who got me thinking about this with https://archiveofourown.org/works/27576254 and the line about Maglor having seen Finwë's corpse
> 
> shoutout also to 2Nienna2 for this ficlet http://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/archive/home/viewstory.php?sid=3627&chapter=1 which made me think about the fact that the stars are still there even when the trees' light fades
> 
> also to the rest of the SWG for the conversation that followed during book club
> 
> I took it and ran away with it a little
> 
> falls into my mae/mags/finno series but it's very standalone

The darkness was coming.Makalaurë stared anxiously out the window, his hand tight in Maitimo’s for comfort.Bad enough when the light of the Trees had vanished and great had been the cries of terror and confusion as above them shone only the pale, far-away stars.But now there was a deeper darkness even than that, boiling along the horizon—and it was making straight for Formenos.It would not be long before it broke over them—but was it a storm, or was it something worse?

Makalaurë looked worriedly about the room.Tyelko was pacing back and forth, looking angry and stubborn—he had already been told several times he should not ride out to get a closer look at whatever it was that approached them.Moryo appeared unbothered on the face of it, but he had gone down the same list of provisions at least three times.Curufinwë and his Tyelperinquar were not here—some minutes ago Makalaurë’s brother had taken his son and said they were going down to the forge.Perhaps unsurprising.The Ambarussar were worriedly murmuring to one another in a corner.Everyone was anxious, fearful, on edge.

“Sing for us?” Maitimo murmured.“If you can, Káno.I think it would be a comfort.”

“Yes,” Makalaurë returned breathlessly, though he did not want to let go of his brother’s hand, seeking a desperate, almost childish reassurance.But still he did it, rising slowly from his seat and crossing the room to fetch his harp.Running his fingers across the strings and carefully adjusting the tuning pegs was enough to make the cold fear in his stomach subside a little, but only a little.He hummed softly, an old trick he had used when he was younger to combat stage fright.Then he began to sing, a nursery rhyme he had not sung since the Ambarussar were in their cradle.

_When did the stars begin to shine?_

_When Varda cried farewell._

_Were they intended as a sign?_

_None will ever tell._

_Who wove the tapestries in the halls?_

_She of the light-fingered touch._

_Can one return from within those walls?_

_Yes, if—_

Makalaurë’s song was interrupted by the sound of the door slamming open as their grandfather hurried into the room, looking more serious and forbidding than Makalaurë could ever recall having seen him.“Get into the armory and bar the door,” Finwë told Maitimo.He looked about.“Send someone to fetch your brother and his son.Do not come out, no matter what you hear.Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Grandfather.What—what is it?”

“I do not know for certain, but I think it likely that Valinor will not remain untouched by sorrow much longer.”He sighed.“Keep your brothers safe, Maitimo.I would not have my son return to find his children—” he paused, his face turning faintly grey, “—injured.”

What injury was it that Finwë feared?Makalaurë could not keep from trembling, but he put his harp down and followed Maitimo from the room as if in a dream.“Take the others to the armory,” Maitimo told him.“I will fetch Curvo and Tyelpe myself.Stay safe, Káno.”

The darkness was drawing ever nearer, and the terror inside Makalaurë continued to mount.He led the others to the armory, fending off Tyelko’s protestations that they ought to be _doing_ something—“Tyelko, please shut up,” Moryo said, finally, tiredly, and Tyelko at least subsided a little at that.

The armory was thick-walled, with many weapons set upon the walls and on stands about the room.Most were used for hunting or for sparring—many had been made by Fëanáro himself or one or other of his sons.Makalaurë seated himself in one corner of the room.“Tyelko, sit down or we will sit _on_ you,” he said, managing to sound almost commanding.Tyelko grumbled again, but did as he was bid.

Maitimo arrived with Curvo and Tyelperinquar only a few moments later.“Help me bar the door,” he said sharply as they entered.

“Bar the—?” Pityo stammered.

“For safety’s sake,” Maitimo replied, and somehow he seemed almost calm.“We will keep anything that must stay without, without.”

Makalaurë rose as if in a dream to help him.Outside the wide windows he could still see the stars, though they flickered out one by one in the face of the darkness that moved relentlessly towards them.He helped Maitimo move one of the heavy weapon-stands in front of the door.“Shall we take up weapons ourselves, Nelyo?” he asked in a low voice.

“Not yet,” Maitimo answered quietly.“It will be better, I think, to have them within reach if it becomes necessary, but there is no need to run the risk of Moryo accidentally stabbing Tyelko out of nerves.”

That drew a faint chuckle out of Makalaurë.“Perhaps I should sing again, to raise our spirits?”

“No,” Maitimo said, and a little frown wormed its way into his forehead.“No, I think we must be very silent, Káno.”Makalaurë did not like to ask him why.

The eight of them huddled together against the far wall, peering outside at the encroaching darkness.Star after star flickered out, and Makalaurë slipped one hand into Maitimo’s and the other into Telufinwë’s.They held on tightly, the only sound their ragged breathing, as it came closer—swiftly and slowly at the same time, it seemed.

When it arrived, at last, all was plunged into gloom.There was no starlight to see by, and someone gave a little frightened gasp—it sounded like Tyelperinquar, but it might have been any of Makalaurë’s younger brothers.He could only be certain it had not been him because he had not felt his throat contract.“ _Nelyo_ ,” he whispered softly, and Maitimo’s hand tightened in his; he drew his younger brother closer and held him tightly, reaching across him with his other hand, probably to dole out another comforting touch to another fearful brother.

There was a great rumbling, roaring sound, and then came the clash of steel upon steel.You could not have told that there was any difference from a tournament or sparring contest but for the lack of cheering crowds, the grim strained silence.“Who is fighting?” whispered Tyelko.“We should not stay in here!We should go and see if our help is needed!”

“No,” Maitimo told him.“Grandfather told us to stay here.We will stay.”

“What if he needs our help?” Tyelko argued stubbornly, his voice shaking a little, pleading a little.

“If Grandfather cannot defeat whatever it is, what makes you think we can?” Moryo asked.

“Nine fighters is a great deal different to just one,” Tyelko pointed out.

“Grandfather told us to stay here.No.That is my final word.” Maitimo’s voice rose a little over the angry clamor of battle outside, sharp and almost scolding, and Tyelkormo fell silent.Makalaurë tightened his grasp on Maitimo’s hand until he was sure he must be squeezing the bones of it together, but his brother made no complaint.

The silence that followed the crash and clatter was almost worse, so suddenly did it fall.The darkness did not abate.Minutes ticked past in painful quiet.Makalaurë’s heart beat so loud in his ears he thought it would leap from his chest.He could hear the rushing of blood inside his own neck as well.It seemed to him that a great pressure was building, as if two hands were bearing down upon his ears and any moment they would pop his skull quite open.

The awful stillness was broken by the clear sound of heavy footsteps in the hall outside.Slow and deliberate and too heavy for an Elf.Too large.Whatever was outside, it was not their grandfather.There came, too, a soft little _scrape-scrape-scrape_ , as of something else moving, but it did not move like a creature with two feet, nor with four.The footsteps paused outside the armory door, and something _chittered_.Makalaurë buried his face in Maitimo’s shoulder to suppress the terrified moan that burst from his lips.

There was a clicking noise.The sound of someone trying the handle of the door. Telufinwë’s hand in Makalaurë’s was slick with sweat.He could hear his brothers all breathing, so heavily, too heavily—they _must_ be audible.Maitimo was stretching away from him now, and Makalaurë realized his brother was reaching towards the weapon racks, but he was trembling harder than Makalaurë had ever seen him, terrified.Nelyo was terrified.Then what hope was there for the rest of them?There was a soft little clunk and then the movement of steel as Nelyo must have reached a sword and tried to lift it.The door rattled in its hinges, knocking against the heavy weapon rack in a jangle of steel that suppressed any other sounds in the room.

There was a grunt from the other side and one more rattle.Then the chittering rose again, high and discontented.There was a grunt and the footsteps moved away.Maitimo sank back into Makalaurë’s arms, and Makalaurë found that there were tears streaming down his face and soaking his brother’s collar.He could no longer control his breathing, nor the jerky tremors that ran up and down through his limbs.Maitimo was shaking as well, but he pressed one large hand to Makalaurë’s head and held him.Telufinwë’s nails dug into Makalaurë’s wrist.

He did not know how long they sat there together in the darkness before it lifted, and the pale, silvery light of the stars returned, shining upon eight quiet and terrified Elves, who shared anguished looks.

“Nelyo, what shall we do?” Makalaurë whispered, but before Maitimo could respond, Tyelkormo had leapt to his feet.

“I, for one, will wait no longer, cowering in the darkness!” he proclaimed, though his voice was thin and wailing, and he rushed over to the door, dragging the weapon-rack away, and, taking up a sword, he flung himself outward into the hall and disappeared.

Maitimo swore, short and sharp, and then he rose to his feet, a sword still clutched in his right hand, and made to go after him.Makalaurë, who felt as if his hand were fused to Nelyo’s—he could not have let his brother go, no, not for all the sparkling jewels in Aman—was borne along with him, silent and unprotesting.The two of them had nearly reached the stairs leading down into the main hall when their little brother’s screams began.Makalaurë looked at Maitimo.

“You have no weapon, Káno,” Maitimo pointed out softly.“No one will think less of you if—”

“I have my voice.Come.I will not leave you, and there may be little time,” Makalaurë croaked, not certain whether he spoke in bravery or cowardice, in support of his brother or fear of being parted from him.

The hall stank.It smelled of foul copper, putting Makalaurë weirdly in mind of his monthly discomforts, but far more pervasive.At the bottom of the hallway the great door stood flung wide open, listing badly on its hinges.Tyelko was beside it, unharmed but still screaming: wordless, incomprehensible emotion poured from his mouth.A pool of dark fluid had gathered just within the doorway; the starlight glimmered on it, no longer silver but tinged with crimson.In the doorway itself, Grandfather sat with his head tipped back against the frame, with one arm outstretched, his black hair limned with faint white light.He was not looking towards Makalaurë and Maitimo.

“Tyelko!Art thou hurt?” Maitimo called, but their younger brother did not move from the spot, his silver eyes bulging from his head, his screams going on and on.“Come, Káno, we must see to him,” Maitimo said.“And—and—”

“Grandfather?” Makalaurë called in a hesitant, wobbling voice as they hurried down the stairs together, hand in hand.There was no response.The still figure of Finwë sat like a statue carved from marble.

They edged around the pool of sticky fluid, and Makalaurë could not help but follow it to its source, to where it trickled down from the open, limp hand of his grandfather.The knuckles were bruised, the nails broken.

“Tyelko!” Maitimo cried out helplessly as they reached him, but he did not even seem to respond.Makalaurë did not want to look and yet something drew him to follow the line of his little brother’s gaze—against his will, against his will—to where his grandfather’s tilted-back head was looking out somewhere at the horizon.No.To where he should have been looking out.There should have been eyes, a noise, a mouth—not a shattered, caved-in hollow emptiness surrounded by blood-stained shards of bone.

Makalaurë was on his knees the next moment, a sweet taste rushing to his mouth, and then he was throwing up with a violence he had never experienced.Maitimo was saying something, but he did not know what it was.He shut his eyes, but the image was still with him, and he dry-heaved, this time bringing up nothing but sour bile.Maitimo’s hand on his shoulder was pulling him away, and Maitimo’s voice was saying something, one hand about his waist now.He was pulled partway across the room and deposited onto the stairs rather roughly next to Tyelko, who had finally devolved into gasping sobs.Maitimo had his arms around them both and was whispering something frantic that was probably intended to be soothing.When Makalaurë looked up, his older brother’s face was stained with blood and tears.

“Nelyo!”

“Do not come down!” Maitimo’s voice was high and fearful as he called up the stairs towards the others.Forcing himself to look up, Makalaurë saw Curvo and Moryo standing at the top, their faces drawn and pale.

“Then you must come up!” Moryo called back, his usually steady voice cracking.“Something has taken them, Nelyo!”

“Taken what?” Maitimo asked, but Makalaurë knew, in a rushing wave of horror, even before Moryo responded—before he saw Maitimo’s face crack across again, the stunned grief in his eyes transmuting to puzzlement, to horror, to—nothing that Makalaurë could read.As Moryo’s dry cracking voice replied, “Something has taken the Silmarils!” Maitimo’s mouth opened in a terrible gash-like grin, and he put his head in his hands and began to laugh, a dry, mirthless sound like bones cracking.

Makalaurë curled into his side, trying to offer some physical comfort if he could do nothing else, but he could not stop the thought that played over and over and over again in his head, _Who will tell Father what has happened?_


End file.
